He smirks.
And then Vinnie comes and pulls him away to help him in the stock room. Which is probably a good thing. Because I’m two seconds away from throwing a dinner roll at his head.
At the end of the lunch rush, I help Bev and a few others take the empty trays and plates to the sinks in the back to be washed. Cleanup between meals usually takes at least an hour, but we’ve become a well-oiled machine in our routine to get it done as quickly as possible.
Bev nudges me with her shoulder as we scrub plates in the soapy water. “He’s quite the looker.”
I know who she’s referring to, but I don’t play into whatever this is. “Don’t let Vinnie hear you say that or he’ll ban Moskins from stepping foot in here again.”
Not that I think he’ll come back willingly after this obligation is over.
She chuckles. “I’m just saying, you’ve got a good eye. And he was a natural today. Some people will come in and judge those we serve for what they wear or what they look like. He didn’t have an ounce of judgment in his eyes. I don’t know his story, but I bet it’s an interesting one.”
I’m surprised she didn’t try getting it from him today. In the few hours we’ve been here, she’d only come over to praise him for his work. And that one time she told Thomas that he had a nice smile and should do it more often. I swear I saw his cheeks turn pink. It was kind of…cute.
Nope.Nope. Nope. Nope.
There is nothing cute about Thomas Moskins and an overinflated ego. That kind of charm is exactly why he’s here. It’s what he uses to get girls into his bed. I will not be next.
“This is a professional relationship,” I explain to her softly. It serves as a good reminder to me as well. “Nothing more.”
She hums like she doesn’t believe me, continuing to wash the dishes. After a minute, she says, “That’s a real shame.”
And I think,I know.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Winter
Grocery shopping isthe seventh level of hell that reminds me of two things: that I am horrible at math, and that I am broke.
Cheeks flaming as I try to recount the bills in my hand, I clear my throat. “Isn’t the chicken on sale? There’s a yellow sticker on them for half off, but I’m not sure it rang up that way.”
The teenager sighs heavily, looking like he wants to be here as little as I do. “Do you have a coupon?”
A coupon?Was I supposed to bring one?
My voice hitches, pointing to the bright yellow sticker that reads NEW MARKDOWN in bold black letters. “But there’s a sticker…”
God, this is so embarrassing. I double-checked all the prices as I crossed items off my list. I’m good at figuring out how to budget. It’s something Kourtney and I became pros at because we had no choice. Math is not my strong suit, but being frugal is. I should have enough money for this.
“Well, the sticker isn’t scanning right,” the boy informs me dryly. “So do you have the money or not?”
I swallow nervously. For someone who majored in communications, I amsonot a people person. My confrontation button only activates around six-foot hockey players, apparently, not pimply-faced teenage boys. Sigh. “Can you talk to someone about that? Like a manager who can fix the price in the system. Technically, you’re supposed to sell things as marked, or it’s considered faulty advertising.”
I hear someone in the line grumble, “You have got to be kidding me.”
It only makes my cheeks grow hotter as I admit defeat. Swallowing my pride, I stand a little taller and decide that my dignity is not worth a package of half-off chicken breasts that are probably days away from going bad. “Can you take off the chicken and yogurt please?”
The same person cusses under his breath behind me, making me feel bad for holding everybody up. I’m about to apologize for no reason other than pure embarrassment when I hear, “Shut it, asshole. We’ve all been there before. Move.”
Then a small dark-haired woman who looks vaguely familiar appears in front of me, shoving the bulky man aside with her hip. Her smile is bright. “I’ve got you. How much do you need?”
She’s pulling money out of her wallet before I even know what’s happening. “Oh my God. No way! I can’t—”
“You can,” she reassures, looking from her wallet to me with soft eyes. “It’s fine. I insist. And not because I’m an impatient dick likesomepeople, but because I’ve totally been in your shoes before. Med school was brutal to me. I counted change to make ends meet a lot.”
When she realizes I’m not going to budge, the cashier says, “She needs twenty more.”
